


Cape Maveth

by theresalwaysaway



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Birdwatching, F/M, no mention of will, take your fandom birding, unless will is a loon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 05:11:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7877788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theresalwaysaway/pseuds/theresalwaysaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jemma Simmons, intrepid ornithologist, visits a remote beach on Cape Maveth.  Does she find what she is looking for or does something find her?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cape Maveth

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot is dedicated to all those who took the FitzSimmons Rom-Com challenge, especially amanda-rex who beta-d for me. You are all amazing. While you are heads-down finishing up your last few chapters, I hope you will enjoy taking a bit of a break to read my story.
> 
> Also it might help to know the Eastern Towhee song sounds like “Drink your tea!”.

Jemma Simmons sipped her morning tea from her Eastern Towhee mug and double-checked her calendar. Was it possible she had the whole Saturday off? Not the whole Saturday, she thought triumphantly, tonight she was going out with Fitz. Whether as friends or as something more than than that, it wasn’t clear, but whatever it was she welcomed it. Evidently he had some news and that was something to look forward to. She wondered if it was about the job at the lab where she worked. There was an opening for an IT person who would also be responsible for the massive bird audio database. She couldn’t imagine anyone more qualified than Fitz. 

She checked the rare bird alert emails. A Pacific Loon and a Yellow-billed Loon were spotted off the coast of Cape Maveth! Well, that would be quite something. They should be floating in Alaskan waters but had clearly wandered off course. She hadn’t added to her life list in a couple of months and it would be fabulous to see a new bird or two. If she left now, she could get there by noon. 

Fitz said he would call her today to run some options for dinner by her. Her heart beat faster. They were really going on a date! But she knew he had been up late upgrading the software at the bank; she would call him when she got there. Opening a new tab in her browser, she looked up Race Point Beach. The first week of March was perhaps not the best time to be going to the ocean, but you go where the birds are.

The things she did for science! _Those vagrant loons aren’t going to put themselves in the scientific record._ She’d better be prepared, though:  


  * Comfortable shoes, check
  * Winter coat, hat, gloves, scarf, check
  * Camera, telescope, tripod, binoculars, check
  * Cell phone and charger, check
  * Water bottle, snack, check
  * Bird book, notebook, pencil, check



She was always up for any birding challenge. Somehow the early mornings and long drives were worth it--just to be in the great outdoors. The shore was a magical place any time of year. Where sky, sea, and land met--it seemed full of endless possibilities. 

As she drove out to the remote tip of Cape Maveth, she thought about her date with Fitz. What should she wear? What would they talk about? What if they ran out of things to say? Would his knee bounce up and down? Would it be awkward? Would they bicker about the ethics of playing previously recorded bird calls to attract the birds out into view? She understood his need to streamline the process, pursuing the best possible photos, but might it interfere with the bird’s natural activity? She was worried about such things. But she wanted the date to go well. 

The sun was high in the sky when she arrived, a few other cars in the lot. These were probably other birders, which was a good sign. But first, she was going to call Fitz. 

_Oh, no._ Why did her phone pick this time to die? Hadn’t it been charging? _Ugh, Fitz, I’m not avoiding you!_ Never mind, she’d be back before too long and call him on the way home. Onward, to the birds! For science!

She loved the anticipation, you just never knew how the trip was going to go. You might see what you came for, you might not. You might see something else entirely. The life of a birder was full of surprises and now that she could do it for a living, it was the best. As she walked out onto the beach, she was surprised at how blustery it was. Sustained winds of thirty miles an hour buffeted her, the sand occasionally stinging her face, the only part of her that was exposed. It would be slow going with all the gear, but she could do it. The beach stretched on and on in both directions. The spot she was heading for was too distant to see at the moment, but as she trekked down the shore, eventually it would come into view.

That wind was brutal, blasting straight at her. But what else was coming at her? She discerned it was people with telescopes and cameras as she approached them. “Did you see the loons?” She shouted to be heard, but most of the sound was carried away by the wind. 

They appeared to nod and shouted back, “Yes, we saw them!” 

She smiled and waved a thanks. Normal conversation was just not possible. _Gosh, this is harder than I thought._ It wasn’t that cold, truly, for she was bundled up sufficiently. The wind was just making it rather unpleasant. Head down, she trudged on, keeping to the wet sand, which didn’t fight her forward progress as much as the dry sand.

Her only companions now were the few birds flying in the wind, floating in the foam, or skittering along the shore. She spotted a lone Sanderling racing in the sand ahead of her trying to avoid the tide, snatching tiny snacks from the sand as the waves receded. It reminded her of the Piping Plover, a shorebird that feeds in the same way. Her job allowed her access to the nesting area of this protected species, and she would go just to admire the plover chicks. They were so adorable! Like little cotton balls with toothpick legs. The adult plovers were very attentive, never letting their chicks stray too far. 

Last spring, Fitz accompanied her to the enclosed area, where he got some wonderful shots. One in particular had caught her eye. It was of three plovers parading along: two adults with a ball of fluff between them. She loved everything about it--the warm colors, the crisp focus on the birds themselves, Fitz’s composition. Not only that, but it was proof the endangered birds had a new generation. That Fitz, her best birding companion, had taken it made it even more special. She keenly missed him having him with her. 

He would hate it, of course; these conditions were terrible and not at all conducive to beautiful photos. She could handle the photography task, she only needed a ‘record shot’--something that proved that she identified the rare bird properly. 

Just keep going, she told herself, the quicker you get there, the quicker you can head back and see Fitz. But it wouldn’t hurt to stop briefly and check out what was here on this part of the beach. She put the binoculars to her eyes and categorized the birds in her head. Sea Ducks: Black Scoters and Common Eiders; Gulls: Great Black-backed, Herring, Ring-billed, and Iceland. She lingered on the clean white lines of the Iceland Gull.

Soon she was back at it, wrestling with the wind. She thought of her favorite TV personality, Melinda May, who had very similarly trudged through the sand as she filmed the episode where she tracked down the cactus wren. She'd withstood the hostile desert heat and lived to tell about it. _If Melinda could do it, I can do it._ It became her mantra. She wasn’t cold, she kept telling herself, but every now and then a forty mile per hour gust would cut through her gloves. She shoved her hands in her pockets. _If she could do it, I can do it._ It was hard work, but she was getting there.

* * *

Fitz’s Saturday morning was spent sleeping. When he finally opened his eyes just before noon, remembering that today was the day Jemma and he were going out for dinner put a smile on his face. He hopped out of bed, threw on some clothes, and headed to the kitchen for some tea. 

He wanted to do some restaurant research before he called Jemma, but first, he texted her. “Whatcha doing?” Ten minutes later, she still hadn’t responded, which was a little odd. He’d found several restaurants and he’d like her input before he made a reservation. He scratched his head and punched in her number. It went straight to voicemail. Should he be worried? He should try her roommate. Daisy picked up on the first ring.

“Daisy? Hi, it’s Fitz. Do you know where Jemma is?....her phone isn’t working......Okay, thanks…...Rare bird alert?.......Where, this time?……...Race Point Beach, got it, thanks. Do you know when she left?.....That’s okay….Yeah, bye.” Worry creased his brow and glued his feet to the floor, but his mind flew in many different directions. Why did he feel as though Jemma needed him? Was she in trouble? Should he try to find her? What if she really went somewhere else? What if she was avoiding him and had second thoughts about tonight? _No._ He chided himself, but he always went there, didn’t he? Maybe he should just sit tight. What if she really needed him? “I’m not going to just stand here. I’m coming, Jemma. I’m coming.”

* * *

Jemma reached her destination, noting a number of other birds along the way: Red-breasted Mergansers, Northern gannets, a Thick-billed Murre. She saw some loons as well, but just the Common and Red-throated. She was disappointed, but in front of her now were floating many different species. _There’s a good chance my friends Mr. Pacific Loon and Mr. Yellow-billed Loon are among them._ She extended the tripod and snapped the telescope into place. 

Scanning the little pods of birds, it was hard to get a read. They kept disappearing from view as wave after wave came between them and Jemma. She made a valiant effort with the telescope, but if she zoomed in too far, they wouldn’t stay in view long enough, and if she zoomed out, there was not enough detail. The gusts caused the legs of the tripod to shudder, her hair flew in front the lens, and the growing cloud cover diminished the late-winter light. It was very frustrating! She was losing hope. Would she ever find her birds? She'd come all this way! 

She thought she might cry before she had one more idea. _Maybe the telephoto lens on the camera can catch enough detail._ She could always zoom in digitally when she got home. Fitz would help her. In fading light and wind-blown sand, Jemma pointed the camera at the bouncing raft of loons. Click, look, nope. Click, look, nope. Before she could try for a third time, she heard a roar even louder than the wind. 

She turned from her camera to see a huge black pick-up truck barrelling around the bend. It didn’t appear to have any markings. It stopped about a hundred feet away from her temporary set-up. Perhaps they were here to see the birds. A menacing figure--a huge muscular man--got out and started walking toward her. He wasn’t carrying binoculars. Why was he here? Curiosity faded once the fear set in. She imagined him taking her and throwing her in the back of the truck and no one would ever hear from her again. She would never get to tell Fitz how much she cared for him. She began to panic. But no, this would not do. She would be brave. She had resources. The tripod feet were very sharp and the telescope was a hefty weight. She wouldn't just stand there. She took a few steps toward the man, wishing she could talk to Fitz. Wait, that was it! What if she just happened to get a phone call? She fished her phone out and pretended to converse with Fitz. The creepy man didn’t know her phone didn’t have power!

And that was all it took. Inexplicably, the man turned around, got back in his truck and sped off down the beach back the way he had come. She let out a huge sigh. “He’s gone. He just took off.” she told imaginary Fitz. She was shaking now, and she paced around to recover from the adrenaline rush, all thoughts of rare birds having vanished. As much as she wanted to pack up immediately and march right back down the beach, she also wanted to give creepy truck man a wide berth. 

* * *

As he drove to Cape Maveth, Fitz couldn’t shake the sense of urgency. He hadn’t felt this way since the deer ticks. 

He and Jemma had been on the hunt for the elusive Henslow’s sparrow. The habitat they'd found was perfect: open grasslands with a few scattered shrubs.

They tried to stick to the path as much as possible, as that was a good way to avoid ticks. Deer ticks were the worst. Many of the sesame-seed-sized arachnids carried Lyme disease and Fitz didn’t even want to think about the effects of that. They'd also tucked their pants into their socks and shirts into their pants as a second precaution. If one did start crawling up your leg, it wouldn’t find any exposed skin. They had been on every path in this state park without seeing any ticks...until now. 

“Fitz!” warned Jemma.

“Shh!” Fitz was picking out the call of the Henslow’s Sparrow.

Jemma grabbed a stick, reached down with it, and flicked a tick off his shoe. “I saw a tick.”

“Thanks.” He raised his binoculars to his eyes. “I heard a Henslow’s.” He imitated the pee-dee-deet sound it made. “Hear it?”

“Yeah. So we can check that one off!” 

“I’d still like a picture….if possible.” He couldn’t find the bird. “It must be around here somewhere close, but I don’t see it.” He scanned the bushes and then kept walking down the path. The pee-dee-deeting got quieter, so he returned. “Where is it?”

Jemma was also on the case. “I located him!” She pointed to a bush not ten feet away. “He’s just singing out in the open.”

“It was closer than I thought.” He captured a few images and then stopped to check the display on his camera. He looked like a kid at Christmas with joy and wonder on his face. “I got him singing!”

It was a sight to behold: the bird was perfectly focussed, well-lit, with its little head upturned and beak open. You might take a thousand shots before getting one like that. Fitz was very pleased with himself.

“I couldn’t have done it without you.” He high-fived Jemma. The noise scared the bird away and they watched it fly off. 

Jubilantly, they made their way back to the parking lot. As they were divesting themselves of optical equipment, Fitz spotted a tick on his sock. “Tick!” And another. And another. Flick, flick. He looked over at Jemma with a sick realization that between the two of them, they were probably wearing over a hundred ticks. This was bad. She was flicking fearlessly, the determined set of her mouth showing she was intent on getting each one Off. Of. Her. He saw one crawling up her back and flicked it off. 

“What are you doing? Just worry about yourself. There’s one on your arm.”

It must have been the tall grass they waded through to get to the Henslow’s Sparrow. Desperately flicking them off his pants and shirt, he seemed to be making progress. He looked over at Jemma. If even one tick bit her, there was a chance it carried Lyme. He couldn't let that happen to his best friend. Who was more than that, if he was honest. She was his other half. Who else put up with his long vigils waiting for the birds to appear? He started flicking ticks off her pants. 

“Fitz! There’s one between your sock and your pants.” She sent him a pleading look. “You’ve got to get that one.” 

He knew. He’d have to inspect every crevice of his clothes. “Let me check you though, huh?”

“Sure, and then I’ll check you.”

He suspected he’d developed feelings for her, but what if she didn’t feel the same way? There was no way he’d bring it up to her unless there was some sign on her part. That would be awkward. And heartbreaking. Then she’d leave. And who else would watch BBC bird documentaries with him? Fitz couldn’t find any more ticks on himself and he turned toward Jemma. “Can I look?”

“Yeah.” He found one on the back of her neck, but otherwise, it seemed the worst was over. 

“Nothing seems to have attached itself.” He breathed.

“That’s a relief. Let me take a look at you.” He stood very still while she gave him the once over. She ran her fingers through his hair. He could get used to this, but it was hard not to let it show. “Found one. Nasty little creatures.” She stepped back. “I think we got them all.”

“I think we did.”

Fitz didn’t want anything to happen to her then and he didn’t want anything to happen to her today. _Just keep driving._

* * *

The isolation of the spot weighed down upon Jemma oppressively. What if the creepy man hadn’t left? What recourse did she have? She was out here without a soul in sight. She'd never felt more alone. And scared. Who even knew where she was? What if that guy was waiting for her just out of sight? What if he was lying in wait at the parking lot? Fear gripped her, but she had to move. She repacked her gear and held the tripod feet forward like a spear. The wind was at her back now but it was still slow going. _Fitz is on his way._ The idea floated through her mind and she clung to it. But why? He had no reason to come. What was more likely was the creepy guy would find her first. 

Her brain looped between three competing images. She would remember Melinda May’s similar plight-- _If she could do it, I can do it._ Putting one foot in front of the other brought her that much closer to Fitz’s reassuring presence. But then thoughts of creepy guy would demand her attention. That’s when she would once again staunchly insist _If she could do it, I can do it._

This went on and on until her thoughts fixed on Fitz, and she recalled how they'd first met.

He'd been reserved, gawky and multi-talented. They met at a stakeout for a rare bird: the Fieldfare. It was amusing, really, to see people gape at a bird she’d seen plenty of times in her home country of Great Britain. When she heard someone whispering behind her in a Scottish accent, she quickly found an excuse to introduce herself to her fellow countryman. She extended her hand. “Jemma Simmons, ornithologist,” she whispered so as to not scare off the bird. 

“Leo Fitz,” he replied, shaking her hand. “Um, photographer and amatuer birder and uh, you’re from the UK?” 

“Yes! I live here now, though. Did you get the photo you needed?” They stepped away from the crowd that had gathered in some very gracious homeowner’s backyard, where the bird had been hanging out in for days. 

“Yes, it’s not very good, but it'll do. Lord knows I have plenty of pictures of Fieldfares already, just not in North America.” They walked out to the country road, wandering slowly down the long row of cars with license plates from neighboring states.

“I’m glad this was my assignment today. It made me think of home. I wonder if an American Robin would attract such a crowd if one landed in Sheffield.”

“It’s nice to find a fellow Brit birder. I’m from Glasgow...that’s in Scotland.” He fiddled with his camera.

“I know where it is. What brings you to the US? I received an internship at the Audubon Lab of Ornithology last year and they just invited me on full time. It’s such a perfect opportunity to study birds on this side of the pond and consult when they need expertise in European species. It’s a combination of lab and field work, and I love it. Leo, is it?”

“Leo Fitz, but just call me Fitz.” He wouldn’t look her in the eye, but instead peered in the bushes by the side of the road. “I work at a local bank in IT, just so I can stay in the country and do what really feeds my soul, photographing these little beauties.” Something flitted overhead and in one swift motion, he raised his camera, swept the lens across the sky, and held the shutter button down. “Yes!” He showed her the display.

“Chipping sparrow, quite common. That’s a great shot, you got it in flight.” 

He looked up at her and smiled. “Yeah, I did. Didn’t know what it was called though. If I could have heard it, I would have known.”

“You bird by ear? Our lab has a huge collection of bird calls and songs.”

“How do you think I learned?” He paused, listening. “Red-bellied woodpecker.”

“I hear it.” She smiled. 

From then on, they were practically inseparable on the weekends. They'd spent their weekdays, when they weren’t working, planning the next bird outing. Sometimes they’d focus on getting good photographs. Other times, they’d just try to rack up as many species as possible. 

They faced many trials together: snakes, parking tickets, poison ivy, twisted ankles, the rising tide, and locked gates. (“D’you think you can squeeze through?” “Fitz, no!” “They open in an hour. Can’t you hear the warblers? They’ve practically invited us!” “Oh, all right!”) 

Then there was the time they ran headlong through the woods due to the sheer volume of mosquitoes, entering a wide meadow where they left the bugs behind. Waiting for them there was a brilliant blue bird which cooperated nicely for Fitz’s camera. They came out tired, bitten, but with a new bird for both their lists: the Blue Grosbeak. It was a perfect day. And wasn’t Fitz the one constant whenever she had a “perfect day”? Everything was simple, effortless with him. Not only was he a good friend and a decent guy, but he filled in anywhere she lacked and vice versa. If she remembered the bug spray, he undoubtedly would remember the sunscreen. They were good like that.

The caw of a gull broke into her reminiscing and she looked down at her feet too late to avoid a rivulet of salt water returning to the sea. It was too wide to cross in one jump, but she tried anyway. Now both her feet were wet! Ugh! How much longer must she endure this place? It wouldn’t even give her a glimpse of either bird! She tromped along feeling more and more depressed. Why did her bag have to be so heavy? Why was it so dark? And where was the parking lot? 

She realized she couldn’t tell which break in the dunes was the right one; they all looked alike. Normally, there would be a steady stream of people coming and going, but not today. Had she gone too far? Not far enough? She stopped to survey the dunes, looking for some sort of clue. 

There was a dark figure. _Oh, no, the creepy guy!_ She looked through the binoculars and saw the person was also looking at her with binoculars. Relief swept over her; it was a fellow birder. The person dropped the binoculars and started waving his arms. 

It was Fitz!!!! He’d come for her! She started running. The equipment weighed her down, so she just dropped it. 

He was running, too. “Jemma!” 

“Fitz!”

They collided into each other’s arms. “Fitz.” 

Fitz just held her. “I’m here.” 

And just like that all her pent up emotions came out and she started crying. “Oh, Fitz! It was awful! I didn’t even see the birds! I’m cold, wet, and frightened. I was trying to take pictures and this creepy black truck appeared. A man who was built like a Mack truck got out and was heading toward me, and then he just left!”

Fitz was alarmed. “Did he hurt you? Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, but I realized I don’t even know how to defend myself. I’m so pathetic! This has been the birding trip from hell!” 

She fell against him again.

Fitz gently turned them so the wind was at his back and his body was shielding hers from the wind. She looked up at him again and stood up straight. “And that’s not the worst part. I’ve been thinking a lot about us, and for one brief moment I thought I’d never get the chance to tell you…you’d never know how much you mean to me...how I feel about you.” She looked up at him, her face stained with sand and tears, stray hairs flying, but her eyes shone with love. Suddenly he was kissing her. 

He was so overwhelmed with love for her, but he didn’t want to overpower her with all his intensity. As much emotion as he put into the kiss, he put just as much into holding back, letting her go long before he wanted to. Then she was kissing him back sweetly and slowly, fully revealing the gratitude and admiration that accompanied it. When the kiss ended they gazed at each other, amazed. 

Fitz looked away and said, “Let’s get your things.” She nodded, but was a little concerned that his voice betrayed a coolness. They walked back and retrieved the equipment. Fitz searched for a water bottle and handed it to her. “You must be dehydrated.” 

Did he think that’s why she'd said all those things? She looked him right in the eye and said, “Perhaps, but I’ve never been more clear-headed in my life.” His face softened as he hoisted the backpack on his shoulder. He offered her his hand and she took it. She glanced at him and he was already looking at her. She smiled at him, and it was promptly returned. Fitz gave her hand a slight squeeze. They walked in silence, save for the wind that howled around them. 

Once in the lot, the dunes protected them from much of the wind. They began to speak at the same time.

“I tried to get ahold --”

“I tried to call--” Fitz waited so Jemma could continue. 

“But my phone was dead when I arrived. How did you know where I was?”

“Daisy looked at your laptop and found the email about the bird alert.”

“Thanks for finding me. I was such a wreck.” Then more quietly, almost to herself, “I knew you’d come.”

“I just had a strange feeling that I should come find you. I didn’t know if anything had happened to you...I just started driving.” Fitz’s eyes, full of concern, drifted over to Jemma as if to double check that she was safe and sound. “If anything ever happened, I don’t know what I’d do…” Fitz stashed the equipment in the trunk. 

“You came at just the right time, Fitz. Otherwise I might’ve missed the lot and kept going down the beach. I’d have missed our dinner.” She became fearful again thinking how close she had come to being well and truly lost. Fitz guided her to sit in the car, while he circled around to get in on the driver’s side. But she wasn’t lost, he had found her rather easily after all.

“Hey, I have some good news.” Fitz brought her back to reality. “I got the job at the lab.”

“You did!” She put her hand on his knee and looked at him brightly, “Of course you did! I’m so happy.”

“I was going to tell you at dinner tonight, but you, my birding friend,” he affectionately touched her nose, “gave me _even better_ news.” He took her hand, “I was going to tell you many other things, too,” and kissed it. “But it seems I’ve already said them.”

They were lost in each other’s eyes hardly able to believe that all of the newness was real.

“Let’s leave this place!” Jemma declared. “I don’t ever want to come back to Cape Maveth!” 

“We’ll come back,” soothed Fitz. “And when we do, you’ll find the loons you love.” 

“Perhaps,” She crossed her arms defiantly. “I’ll think about it.” 

They proceeded out of the parking lot and out onto the road. They brought each other up to speed on all the details of the day that began with them apart but ended with them very much together. Jemma began to thaw out and her phone was charging. She was the happiest she had ever been, safe and warm in--dare she say it?--her boyfriend’s car.

“I have to go back!” Jemma suddenly shrieked. 

Fitz looked petrified. “Why?”

“My car is still in the parking lot.” Laughter bubbled out of them both and they laughed until they cried.

**Author's Note:**

> All of these birding tales are based on my own experience. I (and a birding buddy!) really did go out to a very deserted Race Point and a truck appeared out of nowhere. Kinda freaky. And I really did channel my inner Elizabeth Henstridge to get through that day. She’s an inspiration.


End file.
